


Stage Fright

by mysugawara



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Anxiety, Fluff, I spell Viktor with a 'k', M/M, Music, Romance, Singer/Songwriter AU, a lil' bit of angst, full of dumb music references, just a little, stage fright
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 23:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10347249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysugawara/pseuds/mysugawara
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki is a talented musician.  He writes his own songs and has a beautiful voice, but can't seem to get over his fear of performing on stage.  Viktor Nikiforov discover's Yuuri's potential and resolves to help him with his music career.





	

He just stood there on stage.  Like it was nothing.  He soaked up the energy of the crowd.  Serenaded them with his voice.  Oh, his voice.  It was like something out of a fairytale.  It soared above that soft acoustic guitar.  Gentle when it needed to be; powerful when it needed to be.  That sweet baritone voice.  Captivating everyone in the room.  When his voice finally trailed off it took everyone a moment to recover.  They roared with applause.  

He looked so good in the stage lights.  Standing there with his guitar.  Lips pressed against the microphone.  Singing every note with such passion.  It was amazing.  I wanted to be him, be like him.  Critically acclaimed, Viktor Nikiforov.  

I loved every single moment of that performance.  I’d been listening to Viktor’s music for years.  Ever since he was little.  Ever since I was little.  It’s only gotten better as he’s gotten older.  It’s like I’ve grown up with him.  It was like I fell in love with him.  

Yeah.  In my dreams right?  

 

. . .

 

I’m twenty-three years old.  I currently live in Los Angeles.  I’ve wanted to move here my whole life.  It just seemed like a cool place to live.  Okay, yeah, I’ll admit I moved here to be closer to music.  LA just seemed like the perfect place to pursue a career in music, but so far that hasn’t worked out so well.  

I graduated from UCLA last year.  I’m glad I got good marks in high school and earned a scholarship to go to school here.  I received a degree in communications.  I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do with it.  I work a pretty decent job as a barista right now.  It’s a good way to practice my English, as well as my coffee-making skills.

I picked up the guitar at age eight.  It came pretty easy to me; I learned the chords pretty fast.  Now playing in front of others, that was a different story.  I’ve always been an anxious person, but none of that compares to what I feel when I’m on stage. My palms get sweaty, my fingers slip off the strings, my voice cracks, and my whole body feels weak.  What’s the point of playing the guitar if I can’t perform?  

Oh yeah, I write songs too.  It’s not that big of a deal.  I sing them to friends, close family.  I mostly stick to covers though.  Viktor Nikiforov covers of course.  Luckily he sings in English; Russian would be way too hard for me.  I like writing in English as well.  It takes me a little longer, but more people can enjoy it that way.  That is, if I ever get the courage to perform my songs in front of others.  

I spend most of my money on tickets to shows.  There’s a club that is pretty close to where I live that books good bands and artists on a regular basis.  The tickets are cheap and there isn’t a bad seat in the house.  Music has been the only that I deeply care about.  Might as well spend some money on something I love.  

Viktor comes to town at least twice a year.  I have probably seen his show about eight times.  There’s something about his sound . . . it just gets me.  It sounds warm, welcoming, and homey.  Like somebody sitting you down and telling you how they feel about you.  Friends enjoying a deep conversation together.

My closest friend is a guy named Phichit.  He’s from Thailand.  He also got a scholarship to UCLA, but he has a degree in performing arts.  He’s currently in a musical production on Broadway.  It’s a supporting role, but it’s still impressive nonetheless.  We message each other every day.  He knows about my obsession with Viktor.  Luckily, Phichit is a fan as well, so he kind of understands where I’m coming from.  Phichit has a great voice.  I’m actually jealous of it sometimes.  He compliments my voice too, but I never take him seriously.  He’s just being nice after all.  

Phichit came to visit one day back in February.  It was unusually rainy in LA.  He came straight to my apartment from the airport.  

“Yuuri!  It’s so nice to see you!” he said as he gave me a big hug.  He’s always been touchy like that.  

“Nice to see you too!  How was your flight?”  

“Not too much turbulence.  I slept the whole way, so I don’t remember much of it.”

“That’s great.  Well, tell me about it!  How was your first performance on Broadway!”  

His face lit up with excitement.  “I have so much to tell you Yuuri!  It was _so_ awesome!”

I really couldn’t have been happier for him.  He was chasing his dream and it what actually working out for him.  Must have been nice.  

He told me about his pre-show jitters and how nervous he was before going on.  His cast members assured him that he would do great.  The show went off without a hitch.  The reviews in the paper the next day were glowing.   

“Oh, one more thing,” he began, still with a wide smile on his face.  “You’ll never believe who I met.”  

“Who?” I returned.  

“Viktor.  Nikiforov.”

“NO WAY!” I shouted back.  

“He was at the show!  Apparently he was doing some recording work nearby and decided to come to opening night!  He had VIP passes and went backstage to meet the cast!  I shook his hand and everything!  He complimented my voice!  I was freaking out so hard!”

“That is so awesome, Phichit!”  I couldn’t believe it.  He met my idol.  The one I looked up to.  “Of course he complimented your voice.  It’s amazing.”  

“Thank you, Yuuri.  You should really start honing your voice.  Really.  Yours is great, too.”  

“Oh, stop it.  My voice is okay.”  

“Yuuri, stop it.  Have some confidence in yourself!  Your voice is out-of-this-world good!  It’s unique!  People would love to hear it.  You just have to get over your stage fright thing.”

“Yeah. . .” I sighed.  

“You just need to play some shows.  Find a band and start playing.  I know it’s what you want to do.  Your songs are great, too.  You’re a great songwriter.  That’s something I’ve never had.”  

“Thanks, Phichit.  You wanna go get some food?  I’m in the mood for katsudon tonight.”  

“Yuuri, you’re always in the mood for katsudon,” he said with a giggle.  

I thought about what he said for weeks to come.   _Maybe I should join a band,_ I thought to myself.   _It would probably be good for me._ I had to get off my ass and start pursuing what I loved.  

I immediately started writing more material; I was more motivated than ever.  My favorite of that batch of songs was a slow acoustic-only one:  

 

_Why don’t you come closer?_

_I’ve been waiting for you_

_To call my name_

_To be the one I can talk to_

 

_Why aren’t you here?_

_To be the one to lean on_

_I’ve never felt you_

_I know I have to be strong_

 

_Holding back my longing_

_Doesn’t make sense_

_‘Cause there’s no use in dodging_

_The ugly truth, unless_

 

_You find me_

_With arms, open_

_Receive my love_

_My loving words, spoken_

 

I was proud of that one at the time.  I showed it to Phichit and he loved it.  Of course he told me to perform it somewhere.  Easier said than done, Phichit.  

The songs just kept coming out and I was feeling good.  It was finally time to play a show.  I looked up an open mic night at the local club.  Easy enough, just show up and play a couple of songs.  

I flubbed it.  It was a disaster.  My voice cracked and I forgot the words to my own songs.  I practically got booed off stage.  I went home and cried.  I hadn’t cried in a very, very long time.  It was humiliating.  

I vowed never to go on stage again.  My music career was over.  

Until one day . . . when it all changed.  


End file.
